


wild fern

by bigstarkenergy



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hopeful Ending, It's not sad but it's not exactly happy, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sad with a Happy Ending, Steve Feels, Steve Needs a Hug, it's just, what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 15:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstarkenergy/pseuds/bigstarkenergy
Summary: “I watched them die,” Steve whispers, “I watched them die, and I couldn’t do a thing.” There’s a helplessness to Steve’s voice that makes Tony want to cry, or hug him, or both.Tony clears his throat, and nods, shakily. He takes a sip of his tea, and surprisingly enough, it helps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wild ferns symbolize shelter, discretion, reverie and a secret bond of love.

Tony is in the kitchen, slumped over a tablet, when Steve first starts gasping. It reminds Tony of the way he gasps for air when he has nightmares, low and slow and desperate. It’s sad,  _profoundly_  sad, to watch Steve struggling for air while leaned against a couch cushion.

Tony’s not sure if it’s his place, but after a few seconds, he gets up from his chair and crosses over to Steve. Tony hesitates for a moment before reaching out and settling a hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Steve,” he says, softly, “Steve. Wake up. You’re alright.”

Steve jerks in his grasp, still letting out slight whimpers and desperate gasps for air. Tony shakes harder. 

“Wake up. You’ll be alright. It’s alright.”

With that, Steve finally wakes up. He stops shivering and slowly opens his eyes, previously shut tight. 

“Tony?” he asks, voice low and rough.

“Morning,” Tony says, his hand still on Steve’s shoulder. It’s the perfect time to back off, to draw away, but he doesn’t. Steve blinks at him, processing. His eyes still look blown wide and terrified, and something clenches in Tony’s chest.

“You’re okay,” Tony reassures, pressing down a little with his hand. The words seem to have some sort of effect, and Steve heaves in a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” Steve grits out, eyes shuffling away. “Didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrow, and his lips turn downwards. “Hey,” he says, “Not an issue. It’s been a while, I know, but even I remember that you’re human.”

Steve looks up at him, and shakes his head. “That’s not...I didn’t mean it like that, Tony.”

Tony has to swallow hard when Steve says his name. He still says it in exactly the same way, but it’s softer, somehow, these days. Less angry. More...something. Tony doesn’t know what, but he catches the looks Steve gives him, sometimes. He looks at Tony like he’s constantly on the verge of apologizing, but doesn’t know how. 

“I know,” Tony finally says, drawing his hand back. Steve is warm, and when he pulls away, his hand feels cold, like he’s lost something. 

Steve nods, and looks down at his feet again. He’s wearing sweatpants and a soft T-shirt, and he looks downright...terrified. Scared. Lost. Confused. 

It makes Tony’s heart pang, makes him want to reach up and rub at his surgery scars. Instead, he walks back over to the kitchen island. Steve shifts, uncomfortably. 

“Heading to bed?” Tony asks, as nonchalantly as possible. 

“Maybe,” Steve replies, words soft, not as steady as they used to be. Tony sits there, fiddling with his tablet, trying to pretend that he isn’t watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. Steve sits there, shifting against the cushions, as if he’s trying to get comfortable. Now that Tony’s thinking about it, he doesn’t think he’s seen Steve actually sleep in his room since he got back. Every single day, when Tony would head to bed, or at least, pretend to, Steve would be on the couch, a grimace etched into his face.

“Hey, do you want some tea?” Tony asks, getting up from his barstool seat, trying his best to keep his voice casual.

“What?” Steve asks, eyes confused in the faint glow of the backup lights.

“Tea?” Tony repeats, pulling open a cabinet door. “Good for you, I’ve heard.” It’s bullshit, they both know it, but Steve doesn’t call him on it. 

“Okay,” Steve says, like he’s still trying to figure out what Tony said five minutes ago. His eyes still dart around, nervously, but they soften, settle, a little when he looks at Tony. 

Tony pulls out two teabags and drops one into a cup full of hot water and drags the string back and forth a little. He remembers doing this before, before Ultron, before Siberia, before...everything. It’s strange, doing things that they used to before the end of the world. It feels  _wrong_ , like they’re dancing on the grave of their memories, but also, it’s the only thing Tony knows how to do, so he supposes it has to be the slightest bit right too. 

Tony grabs the cups by their handles and walks back over to the couch. He sets them down on the coffee table, one by Steve and one on the other side of the couch. He sits down and blows on it gently, wrapping his hands around it. It feels good, to sip at it, to feel the warm water go down his throat. Steve stares at his own cup like he doesn’t know how it got there or what it even is.

Tony swallows down the comment bubbling on his tongue, something like “ _drink up,”_ and instead opts for sitting a little closer. They’re still a good foot apart, but it seems to calm Steve down. 

“You’re alright,” Tony whispers. 

Steve shakes his head, and looks over at Tony. “Thanks,” he says, eyes blue and sad, achingly sad. 

Tony gives him what could be a smile over the brim of his own cup. He nods, slightly and inclines his head towards the cup. Steve takes the hint and reaches out, wrapping his hands around it. He takes the smallest sip, so little that he barely has to swallow. 

“I dream of them fading away,” he confesses, voice rough and scratchy. “Between my fingers.”

Tony blinks, hard, and swallows down what might be tears. He knows what that feels like.

If this was the old days, if Tony’s worst fear hadn’t already come true, he’d probably say something along the lines of “We all get nightmares, Cap,” or “Our own demons are the worst ones.” But Tony’s worst fear has come and stayed, so he doesn’t. It’s not the time for platitudes. 

Instead, he sighs, and scoots even closer. They’re touching now, shoulder to shoulder, legs brushing against another. Steve chokes down a sob, eyes glassy as he stares off into the distance. 

“I watched them die,” Steve whispers, “I watched them die, and I couldn’t do a thing.” There’s a helplessness to Steve’s voice that makes Tony want to cry, or hug him, or both.

Tony clears his throat, and nods, shakily. He takes a sip of his tea, and surprisingly enough, it helps. “I know,” he finally says, because it’s true, and also because he doesn’t have anything else to say. 

Steve seems to understand though, and he nods, a little. “I miss them,” he whispers, like a confession, like he’s uttering a weakness. Memories flash through Tony’s mind, of happy laughter, of a dumb, smart,  _brilliant_  kid. 

He misses people too.

“I know,” Tony repeats.

A tear drops into Steve’s cup, but he doesn’t seem to care. It breaks Tony’s heart, to watch Steve  _suffer_  like this. To grieve like this. It hurts them all, but...this is  _Steve_. Steve, who once got shot five times before breakfast and walked it off by noon. This is Steve, who lied and ran away, when Tony needed him the most. This is Steve, who Tony loves, has always loved, will always love.

“It’ll be okay,” Tony reassures, even though he doesn’t know that, even though he doesn’t know anything. 

Steve finally, tilts his head in Tony’s direction, and looks at him. “You don’t know that,” he finally says. It’s not cruel, not meant to be a jab. It’s just the truth.

Tony meets his gaze. It’s watery and sad, but there’s still a spark there, that determined glint that Tony loves. 

“No,” Tony says, “I don’t.”

Steve continues to look at him, soft and tender, like he knows exactly what Tony’s thinking. “It’ll be okay,” Steve says, echoing Tony’s words, “It’ll be okay.”

They both know that they can’t promise that, that there are no guarantees, not anymore, but there are some lies that can be told, wrapped up in the darkness of midnight and chamomile tea.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, forcing his voice to be final and decisive, “It will be.” 

And then Steve smiles, a weak, tiny little thing, barely a curl of his lips, and Tony lets out the breath he was holding.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve repeats, staring down into the depths of his cup.

Tony doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans closer, and gently pushes Steve’s cup up to his mouth.

This time, Steve takes a sip.


	2. blooming heather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this, this is why Steve’s an idiot. Because he’s been in love with Tony Stark since he can remember, because Tony is smart and kind and beautifully broken, and Steve wants every piece of him.
> 
> It’s a losing game though, because they dance around each other, lost and scared, stars caught in each other’s orbit.

Objectively, Steve’s a fucking idiot. 

An  _idiot_. A stupid fool. Whatever you want to call him, he’ll accept it. 

Because he loves too much and too fiercely and too quickly and too fucking  _much_. Because he doesn’t fall in love, he  _trips_  right into it, like quicksand, and as soon as he realizes, he’s 6 ft under and it’s too damn late.

He loves recklessly and with his entire damn heart. 

So when Tony sits with him, staring out at the remains of Los Angeles, Steve wants so badly to place his hands on either side of Tony’s face and kiss him breathless, until they both forget that their friends are all dead, until they forget that there is no going back.

“Used to be a lot of lights,” Tony comments, one arm brushing against Steve’s as he gestures across the city.

Steve nods. “You took me here once.”

Tony tilts his head at him and nods. “Yeah,” he says, voice low, and Steve wonders if Tony even remembers. They’d danced and laughed and walked their way around the city, hiding under street lamps and alleyways when people would walk by. It’d been wonderfully fun, having Tony draped against him, his skin so warm, his laugh lighting up the sky.

“You remember it?” Tony asks, his voice casual even as he avoids looking at Steve.

“Of course.”

Tony smiles, a small little thing, and Steve is caught off guard with how much he wants. He wants to reach over and turn Tony around, and kiss him. He wants to find out exactly how Tony’s mouth tastes, along with LA pollution and the frigid air. 

Tony tilts his head and looks at Steve, eyes sad and happy all at once. “Good times,” Tony says, his mouth twisting into a nostalgic smile.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

And this, this is why Steve’s an idiot. Because he’s been in love with Tony Stark since he can remember, because Tony is smart and kind and beautifully broken, and Steve wants every piece of him.

It’s a losing game though, because they dance around each other, lost and scared, stars caught in each other’s orbit.

They sit together, for a long time, staring out at the faint, flickering lights. After a while, Steve feels his eyes start to fall closed, and he lets sleep take him, slowly and quietly.

Just before he drifts off, something soft covers him, and Steve is grateful for it. Seconds later, there’s someone warm hovering over him, and a hand sweeps some of Steve’s long hair off his face. He feels something brush against his forehead in what could be a kiss, except it’s too faint for him to be sure. 

Sleep is insistent and heavy, Steve’s limbs growing tired, but he hears one last whisper before he slips under.

“Sweet dreams, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make me very happy!


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